


Just a taste

by marimoes



Category: One Piece
Genre: Crocodile puts up with him anyways, Doflamingo is a little shit, Fluff, M/M, Post Marineford, Post-Coital Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marimoes/pseuds/marimoes
Summary: During a visit to Dressrosa after the war, Crocodile shares a moment with Doflamingo in the palace. One with cigars, tangled limbs, and a crooked grin.
Relationships: Crocodile/Donquixote Doflamingo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 120





	Just a taste

The warmth that covers Dressrosa is lazy. Its hands pushing curtains to the side to blow through wide open windows, kissing the skin of those who reside inside. No discomfort comes with its presence, no true heat in its touch: only warmth. 

Something that can also be said about Doflamingo’s hand as it roams, slow and languid down the stretch of Crocodile’s bare arm. His fingers curl between the gaps, tightening his hold against Crocodile's palm before pulling upwards. 

Crocodile looks over from the window to find Doflamingo just as he left him minutes ago—skin gleaming with sweat, hair stuck out in every direction. The man is an absolute mess. 

One that he loves to continue making. 

“Mmmm,” Doflamingo hums, low from the back of his throat and Crocodile forces himself to take a breath in. Pulling his hand up further, Doflamingo rests his lips against bare knuckles. “Why do you take your rings off when we fuck? They’re so pretty—” He pauses to lick a stripe down the length of Crocodile’s middle finger before continuing, “and they taste good, too.” 

Crocodile jerks his hand back and a wide grin crawls across Doflamingo’s face. He’s teasing him. Just as he always does when he’s finally gotten what he wanted. 

“I don’t enjoy the idea of jewelry that has been up your ass,” Crocodile mutters, wiping the spit off on his thigh, and Doflamingo laughs. 

He releases his hold to roll onto his back, hands threading behind his head before looking up at the ceiling. Crocodile looks up as well, eyes scanning the expanse that is covered in gold ornate detailing. He’s stared up at it many times and knows when the morning light hits, it creates a view like no other.

A beauty rivaled only by the gleam of gold that lies next to him. 

“So, what makes it any different when you put them back on the hands that have been up my ass? I think the shapes could make for some interesting stimulation. How about I dig some of mine out and test it out on you?” Doflamingo muses with a lazy smirk. His voice is thick like honey, but it leaves a bitter taste in Crocodile’s mouth. “Come on you lizard, I thought you were adventurous.” 

“Why are you stuck on this?” Crocodile mutters, hand reaching onto the side table to grab a cigar. 

His head is always so hazy after sex. Where it seems to bring his partner clarity—clarity that he only uses to be viciously annoying—Crocodile often can’t piece his thoughts together until he smokes. The deep feeling of comfort reaching into every corner of his lungs pulls him together. 

Doflamingo reaches his hand out to tap Crocodile’s thigh before curling his fingers in a request. With a sigh in acceptance, another cigar is placed within his hands. If not for the light in the room, the strings that come from Doflamingo’s hands would likely be invisible and leave Crocodile to miss one of his favorite things. 

A quick snap of Doflamingo's fingers against his palm is all it takes, and the ends of the cigars are perfectly cut. Edges clean and ready to burn. 

“Very talented,” Crocodile says, hand curling up to light his own before reaching down to Doflamingo. 

“You already stroked me earlier, but please, do it some more,” Doflamingo says around his cigar, watching it burn for a moment before pulling in a deep inhale. When he breathes out, he does so slowly, lips pursed into a fine stream of smoke. It dances in the air, bending out of shape before dissipating into the breeze. 

Crocodile gives a low huff of a laugh before pulling in his own first breath and he nearly comes again as the flavor seeps in. It’s sweet, a strain of cherry that he found on a nearby island and he buys them out each time he stops by Dressrosa. Getting out here isn’t exactly easy by any means, and just because Doflamingo wants to fuck doesn’t mean he isn’t going to take full advantage. 

“How are things here? Business good?” Crocodile asks, eyes catching the factory in the distance. 

Its smoke billows into much larger clouds than the ones being formed between the men. He can't help but notice that the citizens of this country are happier than the citizens of Alabasta were, but then again Crocodile didn’t exactly have the ability to toss trouble makers away down into a pit. 

Unless the bananawani tank counts, but people don’t forget when they're fed to a hungry gator. 

Exhaling another lungful of smoke Doflamingo hums, free hand wrapping around Crocodile’s thigh. His nails curl into the skin, scratching gently before spreading flat. The familiar buzz of desire again starts to run along Crocodile’s abdomen, and he fights acknowledging it. 

“Splendid. Surprisingly, we haven’t had much trouble since the war. It seems my assistance was enough to keep them off my back for a while,” Doflamingo says and draws in another pull of the cigar. He reaches over to put it out in the tray on his side of the bed, holding himself stable with Crocodile’s thigh. Exhaling with a heavy sigh, he rubs his temple. “What a show that was though. I miss it.” 

Crocodile long tucked away the memory of that day. His time in prison crumbled into a ball along with the war, never to be revisited. If he keeps one thing in his mind, it’s that he found Doflamingo again. 

Regardless of how their reunion went, fight and all, it followed the pattern that always repeats with them. The only thing differing was the location. 

Crocodile takes a last pull from his own cigar before sending his hand across the bed to place it next to Doflamingo’s in the tray. When it comes back across Doflamingo’s body, he reaches up and grabs it, coating his hand lightly with haki to keep him in place. With the other, Doflamingo quickly glides up and wraps his fingers around Crocodile’s shaft.

The hand within his own tightens and an unwilling groan comes from Crocodile’s lips. 

“Do you never tire?” Crocodile hisses through clenched teeth. Smirk playing on his lips, Doflamingo releases his hand and allows the sand to bend back into shape slowly, but he does not release his other grip. “I already smoked.” 

Digging his foot into the bed, Doflamingo flips himself up to roll over onto Crocodile’s lower half, knees threading with beneath his calves to pin him in place. There is a glint in his eyes, one that most of the world will never see. 

To have a him, glasses and guard down as he presses kisses into Crocodile’s hip—it’s a dream within itself. 

Not because it is innately good, no, but rather that it isn’t exactly a nightmare. Everything beneath the attention of Doflamingo’s hands makes Crocodile question how lucid he truly is, and now is no different. Those pale blue eyes that shine beneath the gleam of his eyelashes; they hold no soul to peer into. 

Still, he can only watch without argument as Doflamingo makes his way higher. Kiss by kiss, hands roaming against the curves they can find, all leading to Doflamingo to hover in Crocodile’s eyeline. He smiles again, tongue darting out to lick his lower lip like a whip, and Crocodile remains unmoved. 

“What do I have to do to convince you?” Doflamingo whispers, grinding up against Crocodile slowly, and smirks when he feels a twitch that is not his own against his stomach. It’s too gentle for what he wants. He needs more than that, but he’s willing to play. 

“Nothing. I already told you, I smoked. We're done,” Crocodile reiterates, pupils shaking just barely as he struggles to keep focus on Doflamingo’s eyes. 

He never knew he would miss those rose glasses so badly. 

“The cigar isn’t burnt up yet, so your excuse is weak,” Doflamingo argues, but pauses before purring, “ _Sir_.” 

Crocodile jerks harder against his stomach at the name, regardless of knowing it's a taunt, and curses once before Doflamingo’s lips are on his. His hands move to knit together behind Crocodile’s head as he pulls him away from the headboard, and his knees press further into the bed. Crocodile is caged within limbs, but no part of him wants to escape. 

There is no space between them, no air—only warm skin, bit lips, and just a taste of cherry. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @noswordstyle  
> Twitter: @__moes__


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